


Williams Brand

by whitachi



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M, OFF (Obligatory Foxhole Fic), Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1994094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitachi/pseuds/whitachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Low temperatures can fog your thinking. Your sense of smell is connected to your memory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Williams Brand

When you got cold enough, really cold, it felt like being drunk. You lost track of exactly where your hands or feet were at any given time (and fingers and toes? forget 'em) and you couldn't quite get a real sharp thought in your head or put together a decent sentence. All you were was just an ambling, confused warm belly looking for a place where you could just _stop_ for a while.

All it meant was that Nix's flask was getting a little more rest than usual. Slim rations all around. His supply would last a little longer once this was over, at least, though more and more thoughts like that were the ones that made him laugh. Laugh out loud, enough that Dick would give him a look and he'd shake his head. Nothing, it was nothing. Nothing unusual.

"Nix," Dick said and it felt like he was a mile away. "You okay?"

Nix had been standing, just standing, looking out over the snow. If you looked long enough, the trees seemed to disappear, and everything was white. Looked a little longer, and it'd start to seem black. "Yeah," he said, blinking a few times and pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. "Yeah, just... cold."

Dick snorted a little, the air curling out from his nostrils. "Yeah, cold," he said. His face was in shadow, tucked down in his foxhole, but Nix could see the tip of his nose all red. "Come on, get down in here before you freeze."

"Already freezing," Nix said, but got himself down next to Dick, getting huddled up under the blankets. 

"Freeze more," Dick said, and tucked himself in close. That was a little better. He could smell Dick's shaving soap, and that poked through another layer of frost over him.

"You sound like my mother," Nix said, and he felt Dick's little indignant huff. "You know, 'if you keep doing that it'll stick that way.'"

"Well..." Dick said, and after a moment just shook his head. Nix got it. It was too cold to be clever.

Dick had his eyes closed, but Nix could tell he wasn't sleeping. In some more liquid states of mind he got to thinking that Dick just didn't sleep anymore, or could do it while in motion, like a bird flying long over the water. He'd sleep when the war was over. He'd deserve it.

"You look drunk," Nix said, and Dick opened one eye to give him a real look. He just grinned, even though the chill air made his teeth hurt. "You got a red nose."

Dick laughed a little and closed his eyes again. "It's always looking for reasons to get red," he said. "You should see it when I get too much sun."

He _had_ seen it, though Toccoa and any Georgia sun there seemed like a goddamn dream right then. Anyway, when he thought of that dream, most of what he could remember were freckles. Nix let out a little whine and huddled in closer. "Don't tease me talking about sunshine," he said. 

"Well," Dick said, and shifted so they were as close as they could get without out and out lying on each other, arms hooked around shoulders and backs. "Something to look forward to."

"Yeah," Nix said, and closed his eyes. "Something."

He felt Dick squeeze his bicep a little. "Get some sleep."

"Yes, sir," Nix said, and could feel Dick's laugh more than he could hear it, tucked in so close to his neck.

It wasn't quiet, but it was _quiet_. Cold enough that he couldn't think, warm enough to almost feel safe. He _was_ tired, right down into his bones, and as Nix started to drift off, hearing Dick's steady breathing and smelling the soap on his skin, he thought, this isn't so bad. My war could end right here, and they could send a letter home to my family saying it was peaceful.

He woke up, though, to the jostle of Dick getting up and out of the foxhole, and the sonofabitch sting of sunlight in his eyes. All peace was temporary, after all. 

Nix had been warm for a while the next time he got a chance to spend some time with a basin and a mirror and a razor. It'd been long enough that his scruff was getting thick, which hadn't actually been much use in the way of extra warmth. He'd feel a little more human to get it off his face. 

The moment he brought his soap-lathered hands to his face he stopped, though. Shaving soap had a hell of a scent. Nix rinsed his hands off and decided that he could keep the whiskers until someone told him to do something about it. He had other things to catch up on.


End file.
